At Crossroad Go This Way
by Zont.Nek
Summary: When Derek finds a strange symbol, he looks for help from the only person who's never let him down. Rip it to shreds, people!
1. Chapter 1

"_What the hell is that thing?"_

_ "How should I know?"_

_ "You're the expert!"_

_ "Says who?"_

* * *

Once upon a time, a quiet evening would have been impossible for Stiles to deal with. His life was different now. If the past few months had taught him anything at all, it had been that a night without the risk of dismemberment or death should be treasured, and Stiles was going to treasure _the hell_ out of this one. So, there he sat, humming softly to himself, textbook open on his desk, notebook in his lap, copying out passages that seemed especially likely to be on a test. He glanced up whenever the police scanner crackled to life, but the idle chatter he heard told him that his dad was having a relaxing evening as well.

The piercing howl of a wolf broke the relative silence of the room. Stiles jerked and almost fell out of his chair. Grunting, he reached over and grabbed his phone.

_NEW MULTIMEDIA MESSAGE!  
__FROM: Asshat  
__What does this mean?_

Stiles sighed and opened the picture from Derek. He couldn't make out much detail, so he forwarded the file and opened it on his laptop. It was a symbol carved into a tree, in the center was Derek's tattoo, surrounded by a circle. Piercing the circle were two arrows, pointing to the right. It was weird, and Stiles thought it looked vaguely familiar.

_REPLY TO:_ _Asshat  
__Since you asked so nicely, I guess I can look into it once I finish my HW._

His message sent, Stiles tried to get back to what he'd been reading, but the image of the strange symbol kept distracting him. It was a puzzle, and Stiles couldn't _not_ try to figure out a puzzle. Swearing to, or perhaps at, himself, he flipped his textbook closed and tossed it toward his bed. It thumped loudly to the floor. He had just pulled up the picture when the wolf howled again.

_NEW TEXT MESSAGE!  
__FROM: Asshat  
__No. Now._

It was followed a moment later by another text.

_Please._

"Please?" Stiles asked, stunned. "_Please?_" That disturbed him more than the creepy symbol. Frowning in concentration, he stared at the screen, absentmindedly copying the design into his notebook. He looked down at what he'd drawn. It looked so _familiar_. Part of it, he knew, was the triskelion, Derek's tattoo, so he drew the symbol without it. Then, something clicked. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew how to find out. Grinning, he rushed out of his room and down the stairs.

_Stiles was not having a good day. His teacher had yelled at him, and all the other kids laughed at him until he was on the verge of tears. Stiles didn't want to act up in class, but sometimes sitting still was so _hard_. When he got home, he marched straight into his room and began gathering his things. He laid a shirt out on his bed and began placing them one by one on it. Two action figures, a ball, a comic book, his favorite stuffed dog, a box of crayons, and a small notebook. He carefully folded the shirt and tied the edges together around his baseball bat, then threw the whole thing over his shoulder and strode purposefully down the stairs and out the door._

_ "Where do you think you're going, mister?" his mother asked as he headed down the walkway._

_ "I'm running away," Stiles replied without turning around, "I'm going to go live at the circus."_

_ "Oh? I think the circus left already."_

_ Stiles sniffed. "Then I'll go find it."_

_ "That sounds like a good plan, but why do you want to go live in a circus?"_

_ "At the circus, no one yells at you when you get bored, and no one ever laughs at you either, unless you're being funny. At the circus they just juggle and eat popcorn and train the lions."_

_ "But won't you miss me and your daddy? I bet no one at the circus can make you special pancakes."_

_ Stiles stopped slouching; He hadn't thought of that. "Maybe you and Daddy could come with me."_

_ "I don't know. Why don't you stay here until Daddy comes home, and then we can ask him?"_

_ "Okay," Stiles said softly, and turned around. He headed back towards his mother, who took the baseball bat off his shoulder and gave him a big hug._

_ "You did a good job tying your bindle," she told him._

_ "My what?"_

_ "That's the name for this thing you made. Come with me, I want to show you something."_

_ They'd gone inside, and his mother had pulled a book off the shelf. Stiles sat in her lap as she showed him pictures and told him stories about the hobos and tramps that used to ride the trains, sometimes right through Beacon Hills, looking for work or food or a safe place to sleep. He loved the stories, and every day begged her for more. She taught him about the secret signs they used to tell one another about houses where kind people lived, or towns it wasn't safe to visit. She helped him copy the signs from her books and learn what they meant. Sometimes he'd come home from school to find a piece of paper taped to the front door, and he'd peer intently at the symbols, following directions around the house until he found his mother, smiling, laughing, with a tray of snacks._

Stiles sniffed and tried not to wipe at his eyes as he stood in front of his mother's bookcase. She'd been an avid reader, obsessive collector, and a local history junkie. Stiles' dad didn't have the heart to get rid of his wife's books, so they stayed on the shelf, gathering dust, except for the rare occasions he or Stiles could bear to take one down. Stiles scanned the titles until he found the one he was looking for, and with a sigh, he pulled it off the shelf and flipped to the index.

A few minutes later, he dropped the book to the floor, and rushed back to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek didn't enjoy snarling. He didn't enjoy pacing. Most of all, he didn't enjoy finding strange, personalized symbols carved into trees in his territory. He'd done all three tonight. Still, he snarled and paced and kept checking his phone, as if it was possible for him to miss a notification when he held the thing in his hand. When it finally rang, he raised it to his ear.

"Stiles."

"Where did you find this?"

"It was carved into a tree, not a hundred feet from my front door. What does it mean?"

"It means 'get the hell out'."

Derek snorted. "What?"

"It's an old hobo sign-"

"_Homo sign?_"

"Yes, Derek, homo sign. The gays are trying to tell you something. Hobo, _hobo_! Jesus, open up your ears. Hoboes used them to leave messages for one another, 'these people will feed you', or 'don't drink the water'. This one means 'danger, get out quick'. It's got your tattoo; it's saying 'Derek, GTFO!'."

"How the hell did a hobo carve that into a tree without leaving a trace behind? Are there even still hoboes?"

"Wait, no trace?"

"No, no tracks, no scent, nothing."

"That's weird; I think it's weird enough that you take this seriously. I don't think you should be there."

"I don't want to agree with you, but I think you might be right."

"No, Derek. You don't understand. Whoever or whatever did this could decide it wants to carve something into _you_ next. What?"

"The house is compromised; it's stupid to stay here. Until we figure this out, this place is off-limits."

"You're not as dumb as you look."

"I'm on my way. Maybe I won't eviscerate you once I get there."

"Wait, you're coming here?" Stiles squawked, but the line was dead.

* * *

"Find any hoboes?" Derek asked.

Stiles yelped and jumped out of the chair. "Jesus, Derek!" He shouted, "You know, with all the fur and fangs and claws you've brought into my life, I thought for sure I'd be ripped to shreds, but maybe, just _maybe_, I'll get to die of a heart attack after all."

"Your heart's fine," Derek muttered, stepping into Stiles' room and taking a seat on the corner of his bed. "So is this a threat or a warning?"

"Feels like a warning to me, there are far better ways to threaten someone than by carving up his trees."

"Why not just tell me?"

"Maybe they can't. Who would want to warn you if you were in danger?"

Derek frowned and thought for a moment. "Isaac, Scott, you, maybe."

"Really? There's no one else? I'm kind of sad for you, man. But no, it wasn't me, and Scott or Isaac would just _say_ something. Who wants to get rid of you?"

Derek's mouth fell open and he threw his hands in the air. "Who _doesn't_? The Alphas, the Argents… you, probably."

"You put me on both lists, I'm touched. I don't think this has anything to do with the Alphas, we already know they're out there."

"So, the Argents then?" Derek asked. "Do you think they're going to break the truce?"

Stiles reached for his hoodie. "There's only one way to find out."

"Let's go." Derek said, standing up.

"Nope. We aren't going, I am. You're going to stay here and not touch anything."

"You're going to go talk to Mr. Argent by yourself?"

"Yes. Of all the people you know, I'm the only one he isn't going to shoot on sight. Probably… I hope."

Before he drove off, Stiles drew a quick sketch of the hobo sign and sent it to Allison, asking if she knew what it meant. If she did, he hoped she'd explain everything to him, and save him a trip to see her dad. He shivered in the car as he waited for her answer. When it came, it read:

_Is this another Hunger Games thing? I told you, I'm NOT into it._

"Damn," he grunted, and started the car.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek reread the text he'd entered.

_Stay away from the house, and out of the woods. Something's going on, I'll let you know when I find out more._

He sighed and keyed in Isaac and Scott's numbers, then added Erica and Boyd, although he hadn't heard from them in months, and pressed send.

* * *

_Oh God_, Stiles thought as he walked up to the Argent's door and rang the bell. _What am I going to say? Hello, Mr. Argent! My, you look terrifying tonight. I don't know if you remember me, I'm Stiles. You once poked me in the head and told me about your dog. You aren't thinking of killing Derek Hale, by any chance, are you? Because if, you know, you could _not_ do that, it'd be great. Thanks!_

Chris Argent opened the door and gave Stiles a dismissive once-over. "Sorry, Allison's not home now, but I'll let her know that her skinny friend stopped by."

"Heh," Stiles laughed, trying not to shake. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you, sir. May I call you 'sir'?"

"Come in," Argent said with a sigh. "He wants to talk to me. _Great_." he muttered under his breath, stepping aside to let Stiles into the house.

"Mr. Argent, I just wanted to-" Stiles began, but was quickly cut off.

"I know what you are," Argent grunted, "Don't think I forgot."

"Oh?" Stiles gasped, backing away slowly, "Oh! No! I'm not…" he laughed nervously, opening his mouth wide so Argent could see inside, "'Eee? No 'angs."

"You're a traitor to your kind, you run around with these things. You think they're alright, but eventually, those wolves are going to turn on you. When they do, you'd better hope someone like me is there to save your sorry ass."

"I would be honored if you saved my sorry ass, sir, honest. I have no doubt that you would do a fine job."

"Why are you here, Stiles?"

"There's a truce between the Hunters and the Wolves. It makes sense, neither of you want trouble, and you both want to keep this town safe, right?"

"Right."

"You're not thinking about breaking it, are you?"

"I gave my word, Stiles. If the truce is broken, it won't be broken by _us_. You can run along and tell your Alpha that."

"Right away, sir." Stiles probably could have gotten out of the house faster, but not _much_ faster.

* * *

"That man is horrifying!" Stiles muttered as he got into his Jeep.

"I told you I should have talked to him," Derek replied, stretched out across the back seat.

"God _damn_ it, Derek! You won't be happy until I drop dead, will you?"

Derek tilted his head and narrowed one eye. "It'd be a start. What did he have to say?"

"Just like I thought, he's going to keep the truce. He assumes you're going to break it first." Stiles turned and glared at Derek.

"What? I'm not planning anything!"

Later, Stiles parked the Jeep in front of his house. "You want me to let you in, or are you going to stealthy-ninja yourself inside?" He asked as he walked toward the porch.

"Stiles! Wait!" Derek shouted, roughly grabbing Stiles' shoulder and pulling him back. Stiles stumbled, but Derek held him up.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Derek pointed at the ground. There was another sign etched into the dirt, right in Stiles' path. "That wasn't there when we left," Derek said, sniffing the air, "Nothing. Do you know what it means?"

_"What's this one mean, Mommy?"_

_ "That one? That's a very special sign. It means 'You can stay here, it's safe'."_

_ "Like home, with you and Daddy?"_

_ "Just like that. Honey, why don't you take your chalk and draw that sign in the driveway? Make it nice and big so Daddy can see it when he comes home. Mommy's tired all of a sudden, I need to go lay down."_

"Stiles? Did you hear me? I asked if-"

"I heard you," Stiles snapped, turning his back to Derek. He rubbed his face vigorously and took a deep breath. "It means it's safe for you to stay here." Stiles headed to the door and unlocked it. "You coming?" He asked over his shoulder.

Derek shook his head and followed Stiles into the house. He couldn't detect any trace of whoever had left the sign in the dirt, but he didn't need to be a werewolf to pick up that something was wrong with Stiles. Sitting down at the kitchen table, Derek shook his head when Stiles offered him a cold slice of pizza from the fridge.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Stiles grumbled, taking a bite of the pizza.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, you know what? You asked. No, I'm not okay. Every time I see your face, I just know that before too long, there's going to be blood and yelling and… teeth! It's never a good thing when you're around! Why do you keep dragging me into this?"

Derek sighed, "You said it yourself. When it comes to people I know will help me, you're pretty much it, Stiles. I piss you off, you piss me off, but we help each other out, because that's what we do."

"You big softy," Stiles scoffed, "You don't piss me off that much, most of the time."

"How did you learn about these hobo signs? That's a weird thing to know, even for you."

"My mom taught me," Stiles began, "It was a game we played, she'd hide things, leave me clues, and I'd have to go find them. It was kind of stupid, but I had fun."

"Nah, it's not stupid," Derek replied, a ghost of a smile on his face, "It's nice. My mother did the same sorts of things. Probably a few more deer carcasses involved…"

"Deer… That's disgusting." But Stiles laughed all the same. His eyes found the clock over the stove, and he suddenly felt like yawning. "It's getting late, I'll grab you some pillows and a blanket. There's an air mattress on the shelf of my closet, if you huff and you puff, it shouldn't take too long to blow up."

The next morning, Stiles rolled onto his back and hung his head over the edge of the bed.

"How'd you sleep?"

Derek glowered. "You. Snore. So. Much."

"I do not!"


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles rushed down the stairs, trying to figure out how he'd sneak some breakfast for Derek back up to his room. Derek had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to see Stiles again until he was holding a cup of coffee. He turned the corner into the kitchen and was surprised to see his father standing there, jotting down a note. When he saw Stiles, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trashcan.

"Dad! You're up early."

"Up late is more like it. Just when I'm about to call it a day, one more thing pops up. If you're going to be home today, I'd appreciate it if you could keep it down."

"Yeah, sure thing. What's going on?"

"I'm not sure, something down at the cemetery; I won't know more until I get there." The sheriff sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "There's half a sandwich in the fridge, if it's not there when I get back, I will probably shoot you."

Stiles grinned. "Understood. Be careful."

Sheriff Stilinski smiled at his son and headed out of the house. Stiles started the coffee maker and tried to guess which cereal Derek would prefer.

* * *

Stiles came back into his bedroom and was astonished to see Derek's eyes light up. Then he realized the werewolf focused, not on him, but on the steaming mug of coffee he held.

"Stiles, I finally found a use for you," Derek grinned, taking the cup.

Stiles made a face. "This from the guy who spent the night on my bedroom floor, safe from danger."

"Spent the night safe from the danger of falling asleep, maybe." Derek then snored so loudly the windows may have actually shaken. "That's you. That's what you sound like. All night."

"I _don't_ snore." Stiles muttered.

Derek looked like he was about to do an encore impression when his phone suddenly chirped for attention. He grabbed it and held it to his ear.

"Hello? Speaking." Derek gave Stiles a confused look, "No, of course I remember you, Sheriff Stilinski. It's not every day I get arrested for murder."

Stiles' jaw dropped. "_My dad?" _he mouthed, pointing to his chest and moving closer to Derek in an attempt to overhear the conversation.

Derek shooed him away impatiently. "What? Who would do something like that? No, I'll… I'll be there in a little bit. Officer Lewton, got it. Thank you for calling."

Dropping down onthe edge of Stiles' bed and shaking his head, Derek looked as if he'd just been sucker punched.

"Derek," Stiles asked, sitting next to him, "what happened? Is everything okay?"

Derek took a moment to respond. "Someone got into the cemetery last night and vandalized my family's plot."

* * *

Isaac watched Derek take in the toppled headstones and torn-up earth before them. He came up from behind and raised his hand to lay it on Derek's shoulder, saw how tightly the alpha clenched his fists, and thought better of it.

"We'll get this cleaned up as soon we can, I'll take care of it myself. The other stones should be fine, but it looks like your parents'…" His voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It looks like your parents' may have to be replaced. I can get you the number from the office, if you want."

Derek nodded. "Thanks, Isaac. I have the number somewhere."

Isaac met Derek's eyes. "I can't smell anything, I don't know who it was. Do you?"

"Nothing."

A voice came from behind them. "Oh wow," Stiles muttered. "I'm sorry, man." He moved closer to Derek, but also held back from touching him. "Any idea who might have done it?"

Isaac spoke up. "Nothing."

"Just like the signs." Derek added.

"No," Stiles denied vehemently, "This is nothing like the signs. I don't need any wolfy super-senses to tell me that. Whoever did this was angry, I can feel it."

"What signs?" Isaac asked. "Is that what your text meant?"

"Yeah," Derek began, telling Isaac what they had learned, looking to Stiles when he needed help explaining something. He noticed Derek left out the part about sleeping on Stiles' bedroom floor, and for once didn't feel like teasing.

"That's pretty unsettling." Isaac whispered once Derek finished.

Derek nodded in agreement, heading into the plot. He kneeled behind one of the headstones and tipped it up, grunting as he slid it back onto its base. Isaac and Stiles stood watching in silence as Derek returned the undamaged stones to their rightful places.

* * *

"Hello? Wait up! Where are you going?" Stiles scrambled to catch up with Derek as the werewolf headed to his car. "Answer me!"

Derek turned around to face Stiles. His mouth moved for a second, but no sound came out. "Stiles. I _can't_ right now," he finally sputtered. His eyes flashed red.

Stiles stepped back and raised his arms. "I get it, I do. Just don't be an idiot. Something _is_ after you, Derek"

Derek scoffed and looked up at the sky for a moment before he got into his car and sped off.

Stiles watched the car vanish around a corner and sighed. He felt Isaac bump into his shoulder gently.

"This is weird, right?"

Stiles snorted. "Weird doesn't even _begin_ to describe it." He could tell Isaac was perturbed and filled with concern for his alpha. "Don't worry though, we'll figure it out."

Isaac grinned. "Super-Stiles is on the case?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied, grinning back. "Super-Stiles," he repeated, rolling his shoulders, "Super-Stiles."

* * *

Stiles sat in his Jeep and looked out at row upon rows of stones. He was at the cemetery; he couldn't very well _not_ go. He drove to the other side of the burial ground, got out, and plopped cross-legged on the ground in front of a plain gravestone. He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it in his fingers for a long moment.

"Hey, Mom," he began. "It's been a while, sorry about that. Things get busy; you wouldn't believe the sort of stuff that I get involved with. Well, maybe you would; it's serious horror movie stuff." Stiles talked a lot when he spoke with his mom, but it wasn't the nervous ramble that often frustrated even Scott. Of all the people he knew, Stiles' mother had been the only one who never told him to shut up or get to the point. When he had finally talked himself out, he sat with his eyes closed, as if waiting for a response.

That was when he heard the scraping.


End file.
